Well at least I know where I stand

They're a crafty bunch these Frenchies you know.

Over the channel I popped last week to take part in one of those piddling 10Ks. We were going to head for Etaples for their little bash but, from what I gather, some shady goings-on in the town seemed to have put paid to the event. Of course, being the French, they’d got the message through to me about the cancellation about 12 hours before I was due to travel! However, this kiddie has his ear close to the ground and I'd found about the postponement a full week before the pesky Johnny Foreigners had the decency to tell me!

Anyway, the French were obviously keen to have an eyeball at yours truly and I was pointed in the direction of a place called Saint Hilaire Cotte - which was celebrating the 33rd running of its 5K and 10K events. So, I called Monsieur Roseaux - the Mayor - told him who I was - and that was it – Robert was votre Oncle and I was in!!

I cadged a lift with 20 or so has-beens who were making their way with the Nice Work crew - and, I have to say, I've never seen such a beer-soaked, gin sodden excuse for athletes in all my life.

So I felt perfectly at home.

After a full English on P & O, it was off for a spot of R & R in Le Touquet - kind of like Deal with a touch more class. And do you know? No matter how much I could feel the weekend slipping downhill I was powerless to stop it. The sun was shining so we had a couple of Leffes to slake the old thirst - then it seemed rude not to take wine with the locals and, after checking into some digs in Montreuil it was off for a decent carbo loading three courser at a local restaurant.

They were quite a pleasant lot we troughed with - a couple of dodgy characters from Essex who knew all about hydrating - he went for it hammer and tongs during happy hour and was still propping up the bar at gone bedtime. There were also some peculiar people from Sussex who I felt sorry for and took them under my wing. So now they know what a Leffe hangover is.

Sunday morning and there were more than a few scratchy bodies at breakfast. But a plate and a half of scrambled eggs later and we were all fit to race.

We arrived in Saint Hilaire to a wonderful sight - registration and sign-on was in the village bar! That shows the event had class. But that was probably the last smile yours truly had on his boat race for a good couple of hours I can tell you.

The course was quite simple. So simple in fact that you had to run the chuffing thing four times to make up the 10K distance. And it was a tad of a grueller. Four times we went up a hill for 3/4 of a mile - and four times we ran downhill. I decided pretty early on - after half a lap to be precise - that I was going to treat the run as a training exercise rather than a proper race. A decision partly prompted by the fact that I couldn't see any of the other runners. They’d disappeared into the flippin' distance. All I was left with was the rump of the coach party that had drunk its way from Dover - and what a wheezing, gasping sight we were too.

The bottom line is that it took me nigh on an hour to finish the damn thing!

More to the point when the results were published some six or seven beers after crossing the line we looked through the first eight pages for the finishing times – no sign! Turning to the last page - page nine to be precise - and there we were! Occupying eight of the last nine places in the race. And so, dear reader, that's when the French excuse for hilarity began and from thereon in we were referred to as ‘Les Page Neufs’. The cheek of it.

One nice touch from the Johnnies though was when they presented me with a trophy for turning up to their event. Yes - you read that correctly. I received a trophy - just for turning up. I'm not proud - its there on the sideboard now with my Esso World Cup medals.



Anyway, after a very pleasant lunch and a few bottles of the local poison shared with the Mayor we bade him farewell and made our way back to Calais. Not before I’d signed a few autographs and gone through the old photo routine – I felt humble really because they won’t get many opportunities to share bread and wine with a future Olympic medallist (Gold, natch).

Your man here though has arrived back in Blighty with renewed determination. First of all - never - repeat never - will I appear on his flippin Page Neuf again – and we’ll be back next year to have another bash. Secondly - that's my foreign racing done for a couple of months and I'm now concentrating on getting some of this Leffe stuff off my midriff. Thirdly - I've decided to have a dry run for London 2012 and accept an entry into the London Marathon next year. Apparently my name's on the list - and so the old training needs to step up a gear.

In the meantime though I'm still waiting for a reply from those chaps at UK Athletics - and I'm still waiting for my elite kit. I'll be pushing some buttons this week on those issues too I can tell you.

Finally for now, I've been asked to make an appearance at a sweet little event in Brighton on Sunday - that's two consecutive Sundays in the City of Filth and Needles, with the Brighton 10K the week after.

Got a sneaky feeling it could be another Page Neuf experience though - it’s the Phoenix Park Races run over an odd distance of 7.3K. Having done it before - it's another flippin' three or four lapper by the way - I can tell you that there's only one focus for an athlete of my persuasion and it isn't trying to win.

It's trying not to finish last!

Last year I was fifth from the end - but three of the four behind had pulled hammies.

Ho hum.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.